


The Great Undoing of Thranduil

by AganiceOfThessaly



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Feelings? I don’t know her, Grief, Overprotective, Unrequited Crush, but not really enemies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AganiceOfThessaly/pseuds/AganiceOfThessaly
Summary: To better himself and the reputation of the Woodland Realm (FKA Mirkwood), King Thranduil continues to build a relationship with Dale and invites you, the brave fighter and talented weaver, to restart your life in his kingdom. Dealing with grief, an unrequited crush, and losing your home puts you on a path to rebuilding a lot more than your career. Idiots-to-lovers, AKA Thranduil has to deal with having feelings. So do you.
Relationships: Thranduil/Reader, Thranduil/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first ~romantic~ story, I’m typically a horror writer but Lee Pace as Thranduil is a true blessing to humanity. I have many plans for this story, just you wait.

Another wave of cold winds pierced the town of Dale as you helped shift crates and barrels in the town square. Pulling your shawl a little closer around your neck, you couldn’t help but miss your heavier coat you gave to that family last week. Your scarf, the beautiful red silken scarf you wove for your sister, you pushed out of your mind before it brought tears to your eyes. 

Your sister Aryel had wrapped it around you when you parted for the last time, before you drew your sword to join the fight, and she ushered the smaller children into a storeroom; before the olog-hai swung clubs and fists through the town and brought the stone lintel down on Aryel and the child clutching her in fear. When you came across a fallen elf, you saw his open wound and immediately pressed your scarf to it, recovering the area with his armour. You didn’t know his name, your scarf was probably thrown away by now, but at the time it felt right. Dale needed more good deeds. It did little to ease your hurt in that moment, however, or the chilling cold. 

“Has anyone seen Y/N?” You heard your name from what sounded like Sigrid, and went in search of your old neighbour.  
“Y/N! The elf king is here, he and Da want you to join them in the Hall!” She caught up to you, out of breath but beaming with excitement. The elf king and Bard wanted to see you? None of it made much sense. 

“Is everything ok, Sigrid? I’m not in trouble, am I?” You joked with her, though actually you were a little afraid. You’d see the elf king’s imposing figure in battle, you’d heard the town chatter of his coldness.   
“No, no, they want to thank people for their bravery in the war, some others have already met with them but you were harder to find. Come on, I’m sure you’ll get something lovely, and we can drink some of the elvish wine the king brought with him!”   
Your young friend led the way, excitedly relaying how handsome all the elf soldiers were. 

Handsome was an understatement. Every one of the party of elves were unlike any person you’d seen before. Sitting at the round table in Dale’s great hall, you could barely look at the elf king. 

Thranduil. 

It was almost painful to meet his gaze, yet he kept his eyes fixed on you. Squirming uncomfortably in your seat as words of thanks and honours were bestowed upon you, it was when Thranduil finally spoke that you forced yourself to look at him. 

“Amidst the chaos and danger, you stopped to help one of my soldiers. He had Elvish medicine to treat flesh wounds, yet the gesture of selflessness in a time of war has touched many of my kin.”   
He nodded at a chestnut-haired elf standing to the side, summoning her to the table. She presented you with a folded red cloth. Your scarf! You hadn’t seen it this clean and bright in years. 

“For your kindness to your Elvish allies,” Thranduil gave a quick glance toward Bard, “I bestow upon you the title Elvellon - Elf-Friend.” 

Elvellon. How does he make everything sound so beautiful? 

“Thank you, my, um, my lord”. You’d never really spoken to royalty, you hoped that was appropriate. 

Thranduil’s gaze softened just slightly as he nodded in acknowledgement. He wasn’t finished yet, however.

“You wove that scarf, correct?”  
You gripped the fabric nervously, “Yes, my lord, I was the weaver of Laketown.”

Thranduil rose from his seat to refill his and Bard’s wine before coming to stand in front of you. Or, rather, loom over you. Refilling your cup, his piercing gaze returned to yours as he poured. 

“You take common wool and weave it like silk, that is quite a talent.” he held out the cup, his hands so large you couldn’t help but brush them with your own. 

Before you could respond, Bard cut in, perhaps sensing your uncertainty in conversing with the Elf King. 

“I was telling King Thranduil that as our adjoining houses were destroyed, so did your workshop. Getting Dale on its feet will take a long time and it’s less certain when we would find new equipment for you.” 

“In the mean time, the Woodland Realm welcomes you as its honoured guest,” Thranduil had returned to his seat, though now you couldn’t look away from him. There was an intensity to his voice that heightened your anxiety. “You may live and work for as long as you please, with access to our looms and materials. There would be a mutual exchange of techniques, my weavers learn from you, and you from them.” 

“It’s a good chance for you, Y/N,” Bard told you solemnly. You would do anything he asked of you, and maybe he knew it. You’d harboured feelings for the bargeman over the past could of years, being neighbours and with Aryel so close to his children. You’d often pool resources and cook together so everybody enough for supper. He knew he was handsome and beloved in Laketown, perhaps he could tell you had a little crush, but he’d never pursued anything with you - only the fatherly love and protectiveness he showed in kind to Aryel. 

You looked to him for help, one last time. “If you think I should, Bard, I will go.” 

“I do. You have survived more than your fair share and fought gallantly. For now, Dale only holds bad memories.”   
As Bard rose from his seat, you followed his and Thranduil’s lead and met with them to seal the deal.   
“This is just the start of Dale’s new trade industry. Hopefully our weaver here will help make a name for our town one day.” Bard’s hand on your shoulder was a small comfort amongst this big moment. Surely it was the right decision. If there was no chance Bard wanted you to stay, then there was truly nothing left there for you. 

Thranduil held out his hand for you to shake on the agreement. You hand was dwarfed by his once again, warmth spreading through your body as your skin met his. 

It was done. 

You said goodbye to Bard and Sigrid, passing on well-wishes to Tilda and Bain, and followed the party of elves toward their horses. The chestnut-haired elf from earlier in the Hall offered you one of their smaller horses. 

“I’m sorry, I- I don’t know how to ride-“   
Before you could finish, you could barely take in the small huff and eye-roll from Thranduil before his hands gripped your waist firmly to lift you onto his stag. Mounting behind you, he kept one hand around you and the other on the reins. 

The party followed the King’s lead out of Dale and toward your new home.


	2. The Illusion of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does time move differently in Elvish lands or are you just adjusting to their way of life? You’ve settled into work and life in Thranduil’s kingdom and it’s benefited you physically and mentally. That is, until the King returns and immediately takes to tormenting you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again trying to add as many of my favourite tropes into this fic as I can. Happy new year and thank you so much to everyone who’s read my first chapter!

Laketown fostered only two things successfully: strong wills and misery. By the time you were entering your teens, both your parents had passed away and raising 7-year-old Aryel had fallen to you, not that you were yet able to comprehend how much attention, affection, and guidance you still needed too. You were already well learned in weaving and tailoring, however, and could provide the bare essentials for the two of you. 

As your neighbour, Bard had been the difference between life and death at some points. Though your weaving of masts and nets were your main business, you were heavily taxed and the potential for starvation followed you like another shadow. Bard was well-versed in smuggling supplies past the checkpoints. You would never admit it to anyone, not even Aryel, but Bard had also given you hope. 

Maybe one day he would come to his senses and fall madly in love with you, or marry you out of convenience for his children and your sister and your adjoining houses, or perhaps he’d simply wed you out of pity. All roads led to Bard eventually initiating something between you two, but it never happened, down to the moment where the Woodland King offered to take you away and Bard encouraged you to leave. 

It may have stung more if you weren’t already the numbest you had ever been after losing Aryel. The only thing crueler than life in Laketown were the biting winds that swept through daily, but the grief hounding at your mind was a unique kind of despair. The new comforts and conveniences of Mirkwood - or the Woodland Realm, as you were reminded - were opening the chance to mentally process your recent experiences with your newfound time. 

As a guest of the King, food was provided and cooked for you, for one. Your quarters were fitted with a washroom with hot water any time you liked; a basic wardrobe in the local Elvish fashion was delivered to your rooms. Everyone you encountered was welcoming. You were pleasantly surprised to find 3 fellow craftspeople in your new workshop where you would share your knowledge and skills with each other. Masts and nets weren’t necessary anymore, to your relief. Your parents had taught you how to weave brocade long ago, but without the demand or the resources to spare, the lessons were few and far between. You remembered, though, and in a kingdom were clothing and adornments were in demand, now was your chance to thrive. 

Your first month in the Kingdom was a welcomed culture-shock. Awakening in your comfortable bed, you’d take breakfast in your quarters, dress in clothing more beautiful than anything you’d ever seen until the Elves came to Laketown, and walk to the workshop to spend the day with your friendly companions. The evenings offered you the chance to relax - a very foreign concept. The large bathtub with water from natural hot springs quickly became your sanctuary in which you could soothe your aching body for the first time, as well as your mind. The loss of your family, the violence you were forced to engage in, the realisation that life did not need to be as harsh as it was in Laketown, yet the Master had chosen for it to be so. 

You soon noticed how frequently your mind ended up on the topic of Thranduil. Frequently became daily. Did he know the effect he had on others, with the piercing intensity of his bright blue eyes? How physically small he can, and will, make you feel next to his imposing height and broad shoulders? You could swear the feeling of his hand on your waist was permanently imprinted on you. He had gripped you tight the entire journey back, his large hand on the curve of your waist as his arm wrapped around your body. 

A month on you were left wondering how his chest looked under his fine armour. You were pressed against him for so long, you had to wonder if he was as toned as you thought, under all those layers. Would his skin be as flawless and soft as his face appeared? Would he have a scatter of scars from his many battles, or would there be large ones? The ease with which he swing his sword through hordes of orcs must mean his arms are strong...the muscles in his back and shoulders would have to be just as defined. His skin may look soft, he may move gracefully, but his body must be hard. Would he have any weak spots, is he ticklish? How would he react to his neck being touched...being kissed...or if it moved down to his chest...what sounds would he make...Gods, get a hold of yourself, Thranduil would charge you with treason if he knew how you were thinking about him. 

Regardless, the King offered your mind a distraction from repeating the same cycles of grief and loss too many times over. Thranduil had departed for Rivendell soon after you arrived, which left you simultaneously dwelling curiously on how nice it felt to be manhandled by the King, yet at peace because he couldn’t haunt you with more encounters in which you’d have to face him. The King had turned your brain to mush when he had spoken to you back in Dale: due in part to being openly rude to the dolt Master of Laketown, meaning you’d never really learned to speak with authority figures, and partly because Thranduil was overwhelmingly handsome. 

Eventually he returned, which meant not one banquet, but several days of celebration for his mutually successful negotiations in Rivendell. Negotiating what, you didn’t know, but everyone seemed content because Thranduil was easier to deal with. You debuted a beautiful burgundy gown from jacquard you’d woven yourself. You hadn’t put much thought into your banquet outfit, as all your new clothes seemed equally lovely, but the King’s chief tailor, Merian, had swept the bolts of fabric out of your reach while chuckling haughtily over how he had plans for a special gown. Little did you know, the special gown was for you. 

The seated supper portion of the banquet saw you clustered with other court craftspeople, only some familiar, but all made an effort to speak the common tongue and help you with Sindarin. You were unsure when the celebrations would begin and end: Thranduil’s court did not rely on the sun for light, nor were the Elves functioning on a schedule like you were used to in mortal society. Your companions were known to wine and dine for hours whilst you were sleeping, yet they’d returning to work on minimal rest. At least, you thought so, you weren’t entirely sure how they measured ‘days’ here, you’d simply do an honest days work and no one begrudged your human sleeping habits. 

Wine was a noticeably integral part of dining in the Kingdom, and an aspect you were still getting used to. You’d never had the chance to indulge in alcohol much in your lifetime, but you were also subject to your human tolerance for Elvish wine. It was divine though, and by the informal, social portion of the evening, you’d started to feel a little tipsy. Reaching for the demijohn of red wine to refill your cup, you felt a familiar, imposing presence behind you. 

“Pace yourself with the wine, tithen tui, otherwise there’s apple juice in the white barrels. We brew it for the children but it may suit you well.” 

You weren’t sure what he had called you, but he’d definitely followed it by offering you a children’s beverage, so you couldn’t help by scowl. 

“Red wine is not a problem for me at all my- your h- my lord.” 

Your liquid courage may have given you a quick retort but it certainly didn’t help your confusion over royal honourifics. You were sure Thranduil twitched with the smallest of smirks. 

“If you insist. Perhaps warning Tauriel of your plan to keep drinking wine at an Elven rate would be a good idea, someone will have to carry you to your room.” 

The blush that crept up your cheeks made you wonder if you’d turn as crimson as your gown. Tauriel, next to you and Merian, had caught the last part of your exchange and laughed softly, putting her arm around you in solidarity. 

“She is doing very well with the red, it must suit her as much as this lovely dress!” 

Oh no. You’d never been one to cope with being the centre of attention, and Tauriel was pointing out your appearance in front of him. He who was telling you to switch to the children’s apple juice and leave the wine to the sophisticates. 

“It does indeed.” 

Like your meeting in Dale, you felt his eyes upon every inch of your body and what felt like your soul too. Maybe he was making fun of you again, too. Both options were loudly battling in your mind, leaving you looking down into your cup unable - or unwilling - to continue this line of discussion. Thranduil evidently thought the same, as he began speaking to Merian in Sindarin. You hoped the apple juice would offer a bit of refreshment, though mostly it just gave you an escape route. Tauriel followed you to the white barrels, an amused grin on her face. 

“Why does he call me things in Sindarin when he knows I don’t understand!” 

Tauriel began to laugh. “My Lord only called you a little sprig, do not worry yourself, mellon nin.”

At least you knew what that meant, and being called her friend made you smile a little.

“Well I’m sure he’s making fun of me right now to Merian, they were laughing about something he said.” 

“They speak in Sindarin so you don’t have to be concerned with their conversation, it’s nothing bad, trust me Y/N.” 

Downing your apple juice - which was indeed very refreshing and cooled off your nerves - you tried to pry it out of your friend. 

“Oh please tell me what was happening, I’m already the odd-human-out here. It’ll be educational, getting more, you know, translations and things.” 

Tauriel scoffed at that, but looped her arm with yours to start a slow walk around the great hall, minimising any potential overhearing. 

“My Lord was merely complimenting Merian on his fine work tailoring your gown. Plus the fabric you made, which is stunning by the way, Y/N,” her cheeky grin appeared again, “he may have also noted how lively you look now you’re in our Kingdom.” 

You weren’t sure what to say at that. Thranduil had confused you once again. Lively? He must have meant it literally - you now had enough to eat and always got a good sleep - which made your stomach sink again at the knowledge that he was taking you in. Really, taking you in. Sizing you up like a predator with its prey. You’d filled out now you were eating well; your skin had a newfound glow, your hair was washed and out of the elements of Laketown, your hips and breasts had a healthy fullness you’d never felt before. Your wounds from the war had healed, too. Oh gods, the King had really noticed all of you and had approved. 

You needed more wine. Tauriel was now laughing loudly and held onto your arm as you hurried back to the wine demijohns, trying to stay somewhat casual about it. 

Mirkwood wine - Woodland wine, now, actually - is renowned for its quality and potency. It’s oak and blackberry notes entice the drinker to go back for more, and more, and more. It can even get the noblest Sindar Elf drunk. You lost count of how many times you refilled your cup over the rest of the evening...or morning, or afternoon, time never mattered so little to these Elves as it did when there was a party to be had. The King was right, Tauriel would have to carry you up to bed eventually, but when eventually you awoke wrapped snuggly as a little spoon in the arms of somebody in your bed, it wasn’t her chestnut hair you saw draped on your shoulder. It took you a minute to process, but when you built the physical and mental strength to turn around in the strong arms encircling your form, you were met with his face, sleeping peacefully. Oh gods. How is Thranduil still beautiful even when he sleeps?


	3. The Willow Cabin at Your Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a hangover turns into a semi-interrogation which then turns into Thranduil trying to express his feelings but he can’t really because he’s Thranduil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I too have been drinking wine and felt like it was time to get smutty.

A Woodland wine hangover is in a torture category of its own, so it was no surprise you awoke wondering if you had actually slipped into the afterlife in your sleep. The large, painfully handsome, frustratingly rude, blond Elf lying next to you with an arm wrapped securely around your waist was evidence enough that you were either dead or dreaming. But it was a good dream. 

You felt the soft weave of your muslin chemise on your arms, your hair tied back in a loose braid; someone had clearly helped you to bed, as it certainly wasn’t your drunken self. Each time you opened your eyes, your head would spin even more, pained by the soft light filtering through the curtains. Nestling into Thranduil’s firm shoulder, you drifted back to sleep, hoping to enjoy the most of your strange dreamscape, or afterlife, whatever alternate reality had lead you here. 

Your reawakening found you alone, tucked into the middle of your bed. The uneasy stumble toward the the bathroom over the chilled marble floors helped orient you a little better, and the warm bath you eventually settled into gave you the energy to get on with a somewhat normal day. Downing all the water you could get, though, you’d use this as a learning experience next time you were confronted with Elvish wine. 

Thranduil was right, the bastard. Gods, why was he so frustrating? So aloof, inserting himself into your life, approaching you as if to talk but giving you nothing but backhanded comments and calling you a sprig, or a sprout, or something. You didn’t know how to interpret his remarks on your appearance. It was no wonder you dreamt of him, he was dominating your thoughts, day and night. 

At least it wouldn’t be awkward when you would see each other again, you thought as you settled in to work at your loom, not that anything particularly intimate seemed to have happened in your dream that you would be awkward about if it were real. You were alone in the workshop today, and as much as you loved your colleagues, the peace was appreciated. 

Finishing up the bolt of bronze-coloured brocade you were particularly proud of, in making your way back to your rooms you decided on a scenic route to enjoy the cool Woodland air. 

It truly was a beautiful kingdom, your path carved of white stone and twisting roots from trees more ancient and enchanted than you could imagine. The sound of running water was a constant, but your relaxed workday and lack of company gave you leave to wander further toward the tranquil waterfall. 

You hadn’t really expected to find anyone anyone else taking refuge under the waterfall, nor the King himself reclining in a stone nook. His deep burgundy robes seemed more formal than usual, highlighting the autumnal foliage woven into his crown. 

Halting in surprise after turning the corner and finding Thranduil seemingly mid-meditation, you wished you’d had a more graceful entrance, or in fact no entrance at all, rather, and simply avoiding him all together. 

Turning to leave, hopefully unnoticed, he had other plans for you.

“No need to scurry away, _tithen_ _tui_ , I was wondering when I’d see you again.”

To make fun of you again? Probably. You turned back to face him, bowing your head in greeting, as you’d seen others in the Kingdom do. 

“Good evening my lord,” you squirmed uncomfortably where you stood, not knowing what to do. “I wasn’t scurrying anywhere, I just didn’t want to disturb you.” Thranduil rose from the rock to stand in front of you. 

“As long as you don’t intend to bore me with politics as everybody else has today, your presence is welcome.”

He moved in a slow circle around you, perhaps not purposely making you feel like prey, but it was working nonetheless.

“Bard sends his greetings, but via an extremely dull emissary, unfortunately. Talk of fish and trade would be mildly more interesting if he conducted it himself.”

Thranduil had stopped behind you, making you turn your head to face him.

“I’m happy to hear Dale is ready to discuss trade already, Bard must be busy indeed.” 

He didn’t attempt to hide his smirk as he made his way back to your front.

“The good king Bard. Do you miss him?” 

“I- well, yes, he was my neighbour, I used to see him daily.” 

“Tsk tsk that’s not what I meant, _tithen tui_ ,” he was circling again, his smirk practically audible in his tone, “a handsome, noble man like Bard is not easily forgotten.” 

You weren’t sure if Thranduil was actually mocking you, but it certainly felt like it. 

“Any sane person can see Bard is handsome and kind, that doesn’t make one special.” 

“You don’t believe you held a special place in Bard’s eyes?,” Thranduil leaned down closer to your level, “In his heart?” 

He really knew how to agitate you more than anyone ever had, and you’d singlehandedly raised a teenager. You scoffed at his implication and crossed your arms. But you couldn’t look at him.

“Of course not. He’s only ever seen me like another daughter, if that. A friend.” 

Thranduil smiled in smug satisfaction, not that you could see.

“Walk with me.” 

You followed Thranduil along the softly lit corridors, somewhat reluctantly, as he showed you through an unfamiliar wing of his court. Passing a scattering of elves, it became more obvious that red clothing or accessories were a recurring theme. 

“You and your red gown have inspired a trend, _tithen_ _tui_ ,” Thranduil remarked as he looked over to you slightly. 

You wondered if his choice in robes was your doing too. You hoped so, but as soon as the thought appeared it was crushed by the slim the chances you could have any influence on a king such as he.

“Luckily the dress made it out of the banquet in a better state than you,” he almost chuckled at the memory of watching you throughout the evening of the banquet, progressively getting more tipsy as you laughed with your friends.

He enjoyed seeing you clearly settled into his Kingdom: befriending his kinfolk, learning Sindarin, growing healthier. You were thriving, practically lit-from-within, the deep neckline of your dress showing expanses of soft skin you typically kept covered in your regular clothes.

“I hope that you’ll trust my advice next time, I’m not in the habit of nursing all my drunken guests.” 

Oh, gods.

“Surely I- I didn’t need that much help.”

You tried to question exactly how much ‘nursing’ involved without sounding too anxious. He hadn’t really slept by your side, that was surely a dream, a hallucination, even.

He didn’t answer. You’d stopped at the entrance to a garden centred around a willow tree, it’s hanging branches dipping into the small pond. The bright moon seemed closer here than you’d ever seen. 

“This is my personal garden, but as my guest I’d like you to make use of it any time you please.” 

Thranduil walked toward the weeping willow, placing his hand on a large, low-hanging branch. He looked toward you, inviting you in. 

“This willow was here before any of my kin settled in the Woodland, and will likely be here after we are gone.” 

You met his intense gaze with fascination, knowing how elves had the potential to live for thousands of years. This tree must be ancient.

“Coming here reminds me that life can still be mysterious in good ways. The willow should have died long ago, but it hasn’t.” 

“It’s beautiful here, thank you, my lord. I’ll try not to be a bother.” 

Thranduil closed in on you then, his beautiful face contorted into a scowl. He crowded you against the large branch.

“I would not invite you here if you were at all a bother, _tithen tui_. I want you to enjoy your time here. I want you to live.” 

You hadn’t meant to upset him, but you were so touched by his expression of care that you didn’t quite know how to respond. 

“I am enjoying life here, very much. I never imagined it could all turn out this way, turn out so...good for me, after all that’s happened.” 

You met his gaze, trying to emphasise you were taking his gesture seriously. The cold blue of his eyes were somehow bright, if not brighter, under the light of the moon. You felt like he could put you under a spell with his eyes alone, slip into your mind and read your thoughts. 

“That’s exactly why you must be rewarded. You made sacrifices for unknown soldiers in the midst of war, taking down a troll to protect the wizard Mithrandir. You continually risk your life for others with no expectation.” 

He reached out a hand to cup the left side of your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Thranduil had touched you before, he’d held you close as you rode away from Dale, but he had never made such a gesture. Softness was not something you associated with Thranduil’s actions. 

You felt yourself relax under his hand, leaning into his touch, too caught up in his soothing ministrations to overanalyse the situation or doubt yourself. You let your eyes close as his other hand came to rest on your right side. You’re unsure when you had finally moved, but you too had placed your hand over his, as if to see if this was really happening - you weren’t still trapped in your dreamscape. 

Feeling his thumb brush over your bottom lip, your eyes opened again. He had you under his spell, unable to look away. Opening your mouth in the attempt to respond, you were lost for words. You didn’t need any, after all. Thranduil pressed you to him and met your lips with his own. 

Your first kiss, as powerful and intense as it’s bearer. A large hand snaked around your waist, resting on your hip; your own hands had migrated up his broad chest, one coming to the side of his neck, your fingers brushing his strong jawline. His tongue found yours and he consumed you, sucking your lower lip, pulling you even closer to him as if to become one. Thranduil swallowed the soft moans you made, relishing in your enjoyment. He knew he could give you so much more. He had to. 

You had let him lead, he could sense you were somewhat unsure and it became apparent that this was new for your. He wanted more from you, to take all of you and keep taking, but to overwhelm you was not part of that plan. Gods forbid, to even scare you away from him. 

He pulled away at last, resting his forehead against your own. 

“I cannot understand you, _tithen tui_ , you risk so much. Do you not see what is at stake?” 

“But I had nothing to lose, my lord.” You spoke softly, the most honest truth of your life in the battle of Dale, your sister gone and all the meaning you had known along with it. 

Thranduil’s hands dropped away from yours. He pulled away completely. Nostrils flaring and eyes widening with anger; he stepped back, turning away, pacing for a moment. You hadn’t meant to anger him, and you definitely had not expected this reaction. 

Your hands wrung awkwardly, unsure what to do with yourself, you considered what you could say to Thranduil to calm him down - difficult when you weren’t sure what had actually angered him to begin with. At last he turned back toward you. 

“You think this is all nothing? That you are nothing?” He hissed, grabbing your shoulders. 

He made it sound worse than what you had imagined your mindset to be, not that you had given your place in the world much thought. In fact you’d actively avoided thinking about it too much. 

“I don’t...I don’t know.”

Before you could bring yourself to look at Thranduil again, you were being lifted. He had thrown you over his shoulder with ease, secured with one hand around the backs of your thighs. 

If Thranduil hadn’t been so caught up in dealing out his lesson, he may have enjoyed your repertoire of little yelps and squeaks of shock. His quarters were at the end of the corridor, not far from the garden, and his long strides quickly found you both bursting through the door. 

He hurled you down onto the bed, watching you bounce on impact and splay your arms out for support. 

“It seems you have so much more to learn, _tithen tui_. Life holds many joys, many pleasures,” he came to stand over you, pushing one leg between yours hanging over the bed, “all of which are now at your disposal.” 

You bent your knees up and leaned back on your hands to better look up at Thranduil. He had spoken somewhat generally, but even in your naivety, you knew what he was referring to. It felt incredulous, you wondered how it were possible to be sharing this mutual lust, the insignificant girl from Laketown and the ethereal Elven King. Perhaps it was one of life’s mysteries Thranduil had spoken of under the willow tree. 

You were intrigued, you wanted more, at least to experience something beyond the hardship you had endured for so long.

“What kinds of pleasures?”

The king’s smirk turned into a small smile in appreciation. 

It pained him to step away, but if the anticipation served to punish you a little, he could do it. Removing his crown to place on its stand on the fireplace mantle, Thranduil smoothed his long hair back from his face. He loosened his ornate robe layers to leave him in the black shirt and trousers. 

Decidedly ignoring you on his bed, hoping you were squirming and anticipating what would soon take place. He wanted your mind racing, your body responding in turn. 

Pouring himself a cup of wine, he eventually turned to slowly make his way back to the bed, as if it were any other evening for him. He took a drink. 

“Take off your dress, _tithen gil_.” 

You slid off the bed to stand, doing exactly as he ordered. Untying the waist sash, you parted your wrap-around dress but before you could go any further, Thranduil stopped you. 

“Look at me.” 

You did. Letting the dress fall away to pool at your feet, you stood in your light chemise that was barely hanging from your shoulders. Feeling exposed, the cool air hardening your nipples beneath the translucent garment, you folded your arms in front of you to gain some sense of cover. 

“Do not hide yourself from me, Y/N, you must learn to accept your beauty.” He took another drink as he began moving back toward you. 

“Your body has been resilient, it’s seen cruelty and war, but now it must feel comfort, delight, ecstasy. If you wish it.”

“I do.”   
  


He downed his drink, discarded the cup, and closed the distance between you two. You could taste the wine in his lips. The feeling of his body, it’s warmth, his strong, toned chest against yours with only the barrier of a few thin layers, it made your core throb with need. 

You’d never felt physical desire of this intensity, but you needed to be touched, you needed something to ease the building pressure between your thighs. You squeezed your legs together in response, recoiling slightly as Thranduil continued to claim your mouth. 

He must have felt your writhing.

Securing his hands under your butt, opening your thighs to wrap around his waist, he lifted you up and moved to the centre of the bed. 

Having you beneath him, finally, relieved a need he hadn’t truly realised the intensity of until now. You too basked in the pleasant weight of him leaning over you, propped up on one arm. His other hand worked its way from cupping your chin, down to your chest. Through your chemise he kneaded your breast, trying to grasp as much of you as he could; he rolled a nipple between his fingers, drawing a wanton moan from you that flamed the fire within him impossibly higher. 

Plying himself from your grasp, he pulled down the neck of your loose chemise to release your breasts to him. You watched wide-eyed as Thranduil hungrily claimed your heaving chest, sucking and lightly teething at one nipple before moving to the next. You still needed more. 

He was already positioned between your thighs, but feeling your hips begin to buck against him, he slid one hand up the soft inner flesh of your thigh. Your hands were woven into his silken hair, gripping at the roots as he kneaded and teased your most sensitive places. Amongst your soft moans he heard your breathy plea. 

“Please...please.” 

He didn’t need any further encouragement. Thranduil kissed you again, snaking the hand from your thigh toward your core. His thumb quickly found your clit, circling it lightly. The guttural moan that tore from you in response was a song he wanted to hear again, and again, and again. He moved down to kiss your neck, wanting to hear all the rapturous sounds your body could produce unobstructed. He had built up an even rhythm on your bud, finding what you liked. 

“Look at me.” 

You pried your eyes open to watch him push your chemise up as he lowered himself down to your core, replacing his hand with his mouth. He latched himself to your bud, his tongue continuing the same rhythm to bring you to ecstasy. 

Your hips couldn’t help but buck in pleasure, your hands had released his head to pull at the bedsheets as if you were trying to crawl away. It was so much, but just right, your body fighting against itself to stay in place for him. 

“If you keep wriggling away, I’ll have to tie you down.” 

You leaned up on your elbows to look at him. He had continued to stroke your inner thigh despite releasing your throbbing clit. 

“I think you’ll have to, it’s just so much.” 

Thranduil looked at you with wonderment. It was criminal that you had been hidden away in Laketown for so long, out of his reach. He pushed off the bed to pick up the sash from your dress, coming around to sit beside you. 

You held your hands out in front, unsure how it all worked but enjoying how gentle he was handling your wrists with the tie. He laid you back down on his bed, guiding your bound wrists above your head. 

“Tell me if you’re at all uncomfortable. This is all for you, _tithen_ _gil_.” 

You nodded as he secured the length of the sash to the bed frame. 

“It feels okay. I like it.” You replied softly, your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. 

He lifted his leg over to straddle you, leaning down to your ear. “I like it too,” he gripped your breast firmly while his other hand stroked the inside of your bound wrist, “makes it easier to take what I want.” 

Before you could panic too much at his ominous words, he launched back at your aching cunt, sucking at your clit as he pushed your thighs open further. Your stomach began to clench, your toes curled in as your hips tried lifting off the bed. He knew your climax was close. 

Pushing your thighs up toward your chest, his hands pressing down behind your knees, he continued working his tongue in a consistent rhythm until you broke. The building pressure in your coil snapped, your staggered breathing intertwined with desperate moans. 

He continued through your orgasm, slowing down to not overstimulate your body so soon. His tongue darted to taste your dripping cunt, humming in approval before easing his hold on your thighs. 

Thranduil lay beside you as you caught your breath, his hand moving up and down your torso in a soothing motion. He came to rest his hand on your lower belly to feel your still-pulsing muscles clenching around nothing. With your breathing more normal, he kissed you softly. 

You felt his hand caress your wrist again before testing your binds after you had pulled and pulled as you orgasm built. It felt fine on your part. 

Pressing your thighs together emphasised how wet you were currently feeling. You felt like a floodgate had been released. 

Distracted by his kissing and soft cooing in your ear over how good you were, so sweet, your pretty cunt so perfect he could eat it all day, you hadn’t realised his hand was at your core once again. Two fingers found your dripping entrance, he used your wetness to slide them up and down your pussy. Teasing your entrance just slightly, he gathered your juices on his fingers and brought them to his mouth to suck them clean. 

“You’re truly delicious, _tithen_ _gil_.” 

You gasped as his fingers resumed their work on your core. They were focused on your entrance, by now Thranduil had realised you hadn’t been intimate with anyone before. He eagerly gauged your reactions to his ministrations, slipping one finger inside you to the sensitive spot, gently pressing upward as he slid in and out.

“Tell me how it feels.” 

Your eyes were shut tight, head tilted back as you focused on the new sensations he was giving you. 

“So good...it’s good, please...I need more.” 

That was enough for him to add another of his large fingers into you. He slowed his movement to allow you to adjust but you enjoyed the extra pressure, meaning with pleasure at the feeling. He picked up his pattern again, curling his fingers just slightly to hit the spot that seemed to be most reactive in you. 

Finding what you liked the most, he placed his thumb over your clit and circled your bundle of nerves. You felt like you would lose your mind this way. Thranduil, kissing your neck, your jaw, sucking onto a nipple, whispering utter filth in Sindarin into your ear, worked his fingers to pull another orgasm from your body. 

“Yes, yes, my sweet girl, my _tithen_ _gil_.” 

He spoke, nestled into your neck, as your body shuddered once more. You had thrown your head back to cry out, and Thranduil looked on, admiring your beautiful face contorting in rapture. He withdrew his fingers from you, sucking the product of your pleasure off them again before untying your wrists. He pulled you against him on your side, you already seemed to be drifting off to sleep. 

“We will have to work on your stamina, I cannot have you only coming twice.” 

You were soon asleep, and Thranduil took the opportunity to undress himself and see to his painfully hard cock. He had never intended to use it tonight, but you still roused so much in him, it didn’t take long for him to finish into his hand as he showered. Returning to his bed to see you curled up, peaceful, safe, and comfortable - it had been a long time since he had felt so content. He pushed back the torturous recollection of when this sight was a normal one for him. Downing one last cup of wine, he rejoined you under the covers, planting one last kiss to your forehead.


	4. The one where Thranduil has to acquire emotional maturity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don’t hear from Thranduil, but Thranduil also doesn’t hear from you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you’re enjoying so far! I’m having a lockdown ordeal in my city, I’m appreciating the chance to write my own stuff around work and uni. Leave me a comment or message me if you’re having lockdown blues too, or watch a Lee Pace movie.

If you hadn’t awoken in the King’s bed, wrapped in his fine bed linen, you would have thought you were having another dream about him. 

Seeing the slightly bruised marks on your wrists also offered validation that you had been tied up by him. Sliding out from the bed, the dappled bruises on your hips was another giveaway. Running your fingers over the soft discoloured marks, the memory of his big hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he pleasured your most sensitive places with his mouth, it sent a jolt of tension through to your core. 

It was all real, very real, but it wasn’t quite sinking in that Thranduil had thrown you over his shoulder to carry you to his rooms. 

He had only acted upon your pleasure, focusing solely on bringing you to climax. This had been your first time doing anything intimate with another person, but from what you’d heard from the Laketown women, it was unusual that your pleasure, exclusively, was the focus.

You didn’t know how to process it all, but you were alone now, and had work to do. Breakfast hadn’t been delivered to Thranduil’s room, and without prying too much, you only noticed a wine tray and some paper with something scribbled in Sindarin (at least it seemed scribbled), so you took it as your sign to leave. Redressing in your discarded robe, you returned to your rooms to prepare for the day. 

The spinning wheel in the workshop was a dream to use compared to the setup you had back home. The new threads you were producing make you truly proud, your ability to process wool to the fine, silken threads you had gained attention for was easier now. 

That was why Thranduil had brought you here, you thought. Of course you didn’t know the elf soldier would have access to superior medicine and had no need for your silly scarf. It was an impulse. You had woven the scarf from the last of that season’s threads and given it to your sister to keep her warm. She was gone, yet you continued to give. 

The grey wizard had his staff, maybe he could do magic just with his hands or his mind, yet you attacked a troll that was coming right for him. Neither of them had seen you coming, you’re lucky you hadn’t ended up hexed by the wizard instead after taking down the troll while he was conjuring up a spell. 

It felt like a lifetime ago now, it may have been, you weren’t sure how much time had actually passed. 

Your spindle had reached capacity while you were distracted. Your colleague, Alori, came to help you change over and get another bundle of wool. You decided to start talking to your friends and focusing on your work, before you thought about the past too much and upset yourself. Or think about the King and confuse yourself further.

You didn’t hear from him that evening, nor the next day. The laborious aspect of your work helped distract you during the day, processing the season’s fibres to make the best fabrics the Realm had ever seen, you decided. 

Your colleagues were speaking Sindarin more to help your confidence in the language. In Laketown you hadn’t had much opportunity to read, it was mostly trade-related documents, so learning to read in Sindarin could sit on the back-burner for a while. You pocketed the couple of little notes in Sindarin that were left on your work table the past few mornings, probably from Alori, to attempt to translate at some point. 

While you weren’t entirely sure of the significance of _Enderi,_ you understood it was a festival over 3 days, and quite a big deal in the Realm. Around a week away, by the end of your work week your colleagues were using it as an excuse to let loose. 

You agreed wholeheartedly. Planning to produce as much as you could in the lead up to _Enderi_ was a fantastic distraction. You were also enjoying the social atmosphere with your team, plus you hadn’t seen Tauriel or Merian since the banquet - the matter needed to be told not to make her anymore surprise gowns, you intended to make your own, not that you wanted to bring as much attention to yourself as the red dress had. 

Tauriel was diluting her wine in solidarity with you to make sure you could get through the long night with everyone else. You had assumed it was a low-key event, but apparently a _pre-Enderi_ party had become the norm before you were born, though to them it was new. The entire great hall was filled, though not as structured as the banquet, there were clusters of tables and groups of people laughing and drinking, a small part of the room even devoted to dancing. 

It made for one of the best evenings of your life. Your Sindarin had improved, but your friends were still switching to the Common Tongue for you too. 

You had stepped away to get another demijohn of wine, hoping to get back to the table quickly, when you saw him. 

Or more accurately, you almost crashed into him. 

The tall elf stared you down while your determined features softened when you realised who it was. You were excited to see him, the light in your eyes giving it away. 

He scowled down at you. Your face dropped.

“Alive after all, I see.” 

“Of course. I’m glad you’ve noticed.”

You were confused as to him being so gruff with you, but if he was upset over not seeing you, that was a gripe that went both ways. 

His eyes widened in response, evidently annoyed. 

“I don’t take kindly to being ignored, little one.”

“Have you not done the same to me, my lord? _You_ have _me_ at a disadvantage, you can call upon me any time but I cannot.” You were getting flustered, you tried to keep your voice down while the frustration finally got to you. “I woke up alone in your room and didn’t know what else you wanted from me, and it’s not like I can barge into your meetings or past your guards and ask!” 

Thranduil’s glare was penetrating and unwavering, leaving you both in silence for a moment before taking your arm to pull you along beside him, marching you away from the crowd to an alcove. 

He pushed you into a corner, back to the wall, crowding you in. 

“Did you not get my notes?”

“Your notes?”

“Yes, _tithen_ _tui_ , the notes I left you. By my bed, in your room, even your workshop,” his eyes narrowed, sneering at his own initiative to approach you, “and yet I hear nothing.” 

Oh gods, you hadn’t even noticed a note in your room, not that you’d paid much mind to the notes you’d spotted. 

“I can’t read Sindarin!” You hissed at him, “I barely read in the Common Tongue. If I had any idea those notes were to me, from you, I would have asked for help!” 

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly with frustration now. 

Thranduil’s features softened just slightly, perhaps understanding your situation, yet aggravated nonetheless.

“I’d ask you to keep our correspondence private and not show anyone else. What I write is for you alone.”

“Well it’s not even for me, is it? My lord, I cannot read your language. I’m still learning to speak it!” 

He looked away from you then, the muscles in his jawline pulsing as he clenched. 

You understood his frustration, not hearing from or seeing him had stung you too, but why wasn’t he understanding you too? 

Thranduil didn’t respond. He stood back from you, as if he and his precious time were being inconvenienced. The warm reds and golds ornamenting his crown were the only part of him not projecting pure coldness. 

“Is this it? You have nothing to say?” 

He didn’t. The King seethed in silence. 

“That’s fine,” you huffed, gathering yourself to leave, “I’ve explained myself enough. Good evening, my lord.” 

You turned and rejoined the party, leaving the King alone to be annoyed and childish. There was wine to be had, and your friends were waiting. 

Merian invited you to dance with him amongst the lines of other couples. It wasn’t a familiar dance, but you were able to copy the movements of the ladies next to you - not that any of your companions were in a state to uphold the formal dance steps. 

It gave you the chance to laugh and clear your mind from the confrontation with Thranduil. Being lifted by your handsome dance partner and holding hands with the stunning ladies next to you while you spun each other made you feel like you truly belonged. 

By the last steps of the dance, you needed to catch your breath and get your feet firmly on the ground. 

An ornate staircase lining a wall of the room lead to what looked like a balcony, which seemed ideal for some air. 

You weren’t aware you had been followed, however. The tall figure trailed behind you as you made your way outside, coming to stand beside you. 

“I owe you an apology, _tithen_ _gil_.” 

You looked to Thranduil in surprise, only just catching your breath to then be startled by his presence.

“It didn’t occur to me that you couldn’t read Sindarin, but I only write in Elven languages.” 

He turned slightly to face you, reaching out a hand to run his thumb along the back of your palm that was resting on the ledge. 

“I only asked you to come to the garden in the evenings, so I could see you again.” 

You took his hand in your own two, holding it close to you as you spoke.

“I would have joined you, I promise. I wish I’d known, my lord.” 

“Call my by my name when we’re alone, _tithen gil.”_

You smiled at his words, the gesture within them.

“What does that mean? The name you call me?” 

He took you hand and pushed up the sleeve of your dress, kissing the heel of your palm, then the wrist, drawing you closer to him. 

“It means little star. It’s what I see in you,” he snaked his hand around your waist to pull you in, “because you’re luminous when you’re happy.” Another kiss, moving toward your neck. “When you laugh,” he bit down softly on the flesh of your neck, “when you fight,” his eyes met yours now, one hand cupping your chin, “when you come.” 

As Thranduil pulled you flush against his body, a small gasp escaped you before his lips met yours. 

You’d craved this feeling all week. The feeling of his strong body engulfing yours, how he claimed your lips with his own. His company, his attention, the way he sought you out and wanted to be alone, just the two of you. 

A large hand found the small of your back, pressing you close to him, while he held the side of your face softly as he kissed you. 

“You’re all I have been able to think about,” Thranduil leaned in to nibble on your neck, “I can’t focus on my work with you on my mind.” 

He kissed down your throat as a hand snaked into your hair, gently pulling your head back. 

“You’ve bewitched me, little one.” 

“I- I didn’t mean to.” 

You struggled to form a sentence with the King pulling the neckline of your dress down to access more of your skin. A guttural moan slipped from your lips as his strong hand kneaded your breast, gripping a sensitive nipple. 

Thranduil smirked at the reward of your response. 

Releasing your torso, he took your hand and lead you inside to the balcony overlooking the hall. It was dark in your spot upstairs, though despite the privacy, it maintained an air of risk of exposure. 

Thranduil closed in behind you to encircle your waist. He brushed your hair aside to resume his place kissing your neck. 

You couldn’t help but grind back against him as the pressure increases. You wanted more. You needed more from him. 

Your movements were met with a small growl, his grip tightening on your waist. 

A hand slid down your hip to the split in your dress, gathering the material to slip underneath to feel your skin on his. 

The soft moans falling from your lips encouraged him to go further. You felt like you may explode if he didn’t touch you. 

“Eager, are we?” A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, vibrating against your back. 

“Please, please Thranduil.” 

A new power surged through him as you spoke his name for the first time. 

He turned your face to the side to claim your lips once more as he pushed past your undergarments to meet your needy cunt with his fingers. 

You bucked back against him, moaning into his mouth. His grip around you tightened to further keep you in place. 

Sliding his fingers through your slit, he found your dripping core. Teasing your entrance, gathering your wetness with two fingertips, he continued to build pressure in your coil that he seemingly made no move to satisfy - only torment. 

With a huff of frustration, you moved your own hand down to meet your clit. 

He pulled his fingers out of you. With another growl against your neck, he took your hand in his and returned to your dripping core he left wanting. 

He separated one of your fingers and lined it up with your entrance, pushing it in with his own. It had been about a week since he had fucked you with his fingers, the feeling was strange yet brought you incomparable bliss. 

You’d missed this feeling, and he had accompanied your own finger with his own, guiding them in and out just slightly. 

Pushing up on your walls caused you to buck your hips once more, unable to hold back the moan forming in your throat. 

“Shhh, little one, we don’t want our guests to see us up here, do we?” 

He slid another finger into you. 

Your head fell back onto his shoulder, all you could do was shake your head, ‘no’. You tried to take deeper breaths to stay quiet. 

He pumped in and out a little faster, yet your throbbing clit remained untouched. Your face was turned against his neck now, seeking comfort while you attempted to regulate your breathing. 

His fingers withdrew from you slightly to take a second of yours to slide back inside your core. 

You couldn’t help the moan you tried to press into his chest as he fucked his fingers into you. Or, really, you both did. You tried to match his rhythm. 

“You looked so beautiful dancing, _tithen_ _gil_. So beautiful. You belong here.” 

Thranduil’s voice was running ragged from lust. He pressed kissed to your temples and forehead as you leaned into him. 

“I think you like being filled, I think you take take more than this, can’t you?” 

“Yes.” You hissed in response. 

“My good girl.” 

He slipped his thumb over your clit. Swollen and desperation for contact, he was rapidly bringing you to climax. 

Your fingers, combined, continued to work your pussy at a matching pace while his thumb drew small circles over your clit. 

It had you bucking harder. He pressed your hips against him to hold you in place while you rode out your climax, holding you up as your knees started to give out; his other hand had a gentle hold on your throat to keep your head turned for him to watch your eyes close with pleasure. 

Thranduil could watch this all day, live out his immortal life watching your face contort and body writhe in ecstasy. He would give anything to do so. To fuck you with his mouth, his hands, his cock, to hear you attempt to stifle your moans, to hear you scream his name and his name only. 

Your walls clamped down on your fingers, keeping them in place with Thranduil’s while you climaxed. His hand moved from your throat to cup your jaw while he planted small kisses to the side of your face. 

Something about the way he spoke so gently to you, calling you his ‘good girl’ - it was so unexpected from the imposing King, the one whom some in Laketown had described as heartless and uncaring. 

You wanted him to call you that again. 

Just as your body was beginning to relax, Thranduil slowly slid your collective fingers from your core. 

He moved around to face you. Holding your hand in his, he raised your fingers to his mouth to suck them clean, brushing his tongue against your fingertips. 

If your heart wasn’t already pounding, it would have started up at the sight. 

“I must leave tomorrow, but when I return for _Enderi_ , I hope you’ll honour me with a dance?”

You rested your head against his chest as he wove his arms around you. 

You have a small smile at his request. 

“I’d love that.” 

He placed a kiss on your forehead before pulling away. 

“Go back to your friends, _tithen gil_. Until _Enderi_ , you’ll have to remain in my dreams.” 

You blushed, hoping he was truthful about how much he claimed to be thinking of you. You had certainly thought about him, as much as you tried not to. 

“Until we can read a mutual language, you can come to see me when you want. If you want to, I mean.” 

Thranduil traced your jawline, moving in to speak against your ear. 

“Of course I want to, little one. But I didn’t simply bring you here to fuck you.” 

He stepped back, adjusting his tunic to his typically presentable state. Somehow, not a hair was out of place. 

“I want to court you properly, if you agree to it. I mean it when I say you belong here. You’re appreciated by my people and your talents are most desirable.” 

“Yes, I do. Want to court you. Or, be courted?” You smiled, unsure what you were meant to do. “I don’t know how it works, but yes.” 

Thranduil was surprised at his own nerve to ask you such a question. While whatever has blossomed between you was intense in the most beautiful of ways, it was also forcing him to confront many feelings he had locked away long ago. 

Already, he had apologised to you for his brashness, and he could not remember the last time he had apologised to anyone. 

He wanted to bind himself to you, and you to him. He wanted to keep you in his kingdom, accompany him on the throne and to ride with him on his stag to escape it when you wanted. Thranduil wanted you by his side, always. 

That was terrifying. Another had filled that role once, another fighter, who was also too brave at times. 

He had a lot to think about. He would be out of the Realm for the next week, hopefully seeking council in that time as well, but for now he knew you were safe and happy in his Kingdom. 

Thranduil kissed you once more, taking your hand to lead you down the stairs to rejoin your friends. 


End file.
